


Inside Edge

by MithrilWren



Series: Shadowgast Figure Skating AU [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Implied Past Dub/Con, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Yuri On Ice!AU, competition? more like advanced flirting, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MithrilWren/pseuds/MithrilWren
Summary: On a snowy, starlit night, Essek and Caleb are the last to leave the rink.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Series: Shadowgast Figure Skating AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628686
Comments: 36
Kudos: 209





	Inside Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this amazing art](https://fiovske.tumblr.com/post/190108469926/you-are-the-rite-of-movement-its-reasoning-made), which I ran across last night and knew I had to write _something_.

There are procedures to be followed – fans to greet, hands to shake, cameras to nod at politely before the car arrives and Essek is swept away into the night. The others have changed out of their outfits into unfashionable travel clothes, but gauzy strands of black fabric still flutter beneath his purple mantle. He draws the cloak closer around his shoulders, warding off the blast of frigid air against his damp skin as he steps out of the complex and onto the sidewalk.

The reporters adore it, of course, always praising the commitment to his on-ice persona. He is a carefully crafted statuette, never to be cracked, lest the imperfect man beneath be revealed to the public eye. That mystery is all part of the appeal.

(Never mind that the thought of changing in a public venue makes his hands shake. Never mind what lies beneath the thin layers of chiffon and velvet. The illusion is all that matters.)

But then there’s Caleb, waiting out here amidst the rapidly piling snow, his face turned to the sky and ruddy from the same night air that’s chilling Essek to the bone. He never seems to mind the cold, or perhaps he’s accustomed to it, or maybe it’s the ratty coat he wears, patched one too many times to be anything other than thrift store fare, but undoubtedly warmer than Essek’s: built for utility, not show.

Then there’s _Caleb,_ and no matter where they are, no matter how they meet, it seems that all procedures go out the window whenever he appears.

“We meet again,” Essek murmurs, directly below the other man’s ear, and he finds himself disappointed that the startle never comes. People tend to be nervous by him, when he’s dressed like this. Though sequins and spandex might make most look ridiculous, he wears it well, and he knows it. His juniors – and _yes,_ that sounds good to his ears – tend to give him a wide berth. At first, he’d suspected jealousy, but now he believes _(hopes)_ it’s respect. Four times champion, and for someone his age… unheard of. So yes, he is a little disappointed that Caleb doesn’t startle, even if the man ishis senior by three years or more-

And then he catches the look on Caleb’s face, in the brief moment before his expression settles back into unaffected disinterest. A brief tenseness in his jaw, a flicker of… _something_ in his eye, too quick to parse. But it lasts only long enough for Essek note the change, before Caleb smoothes out the expression to something more neutral.

“Herr Essek,” he says. “I thought you had already left.”

“My car will be here shortly,” Essek replies, and casts his gaze about. Where _is_ that driver of his, anyway? They’re sheltered by the overhang and a convenient slab of granite masonry – an abstract art installation that he might find garish, if it wasn’t so unexpectedly _convenient_ – but not all the reporters have left the venue yet, though most of the skaters have. Caleb seems to realize this at roughly the same instant as Essek, and he suddenly finds himself dragged around the corner, further out of sight of the building’s entrance.

The air is cold, and Caleb’s hand on his arm is warm, _warm-_

(And after all, the war is over, at least officially-)

…He should not be having such thoughts.

“If we don’t wish for the media to believe us up to something nefarious, perhaps we shouldn’t hide so often in dark alleys,” Essek says lightly. Caleb barks a laugh, then covers his mouth with his scarf, coughing for real at the sudden intake of frozen breath.

His coat looks warm, but he has no gloves on, Essek realizes. He frowns.

“And where is your car?”

Caleb doesn’t quite look down, but he certainly doesn’t meet Essek’s eyes as he finally resurfaces for air from his lumpy scarf.

“Oh, I think I will walk back to my hotel tonight. Enjoy the stars for a while.”

Essek stares harder at Caleb’s bare hands, the knuckles already chapping from the melted snowflakes that fall upon them both.

From the curb, a horn finally sounds. One beep, then two.

“My car has plenty of room. Let me take you to where you’re staying.”

“…I will be in your debt again.”

Not a refusal, then. That’s progress, in their tentative back and forth – at least, the one Essek has indulged himself to believe they’ve been dancing over the last few months, despite little evidence to support the theory. Still, he figures… he’s young. He’s allowed to indulge a crush, even a hopeless one, so long as he remembers that that’s all it is at the end of the night.

A hopeless crush, nothing more. Yes, he’s allowed _that_ much, at least.

Essek smiles. “No more than you can pay, I’m sure.”

Caleb gestures down over the wrinkled coat. “You are, as always, an optimist.”

The car honks again, and when he looks back to see if Caleb will follow, Essek finds himself disappointed once more, to see Caleb still standing beneath the eaves, unmoved. But after a solid five seconds, he shakes himself, as though to shake the snow from his shoulders, or a spirit from his bones, and hurries to catch up to Essek.

None of the reporters see them, and the windows of the car are tinted, and that is enough for Essek to breathe easy, though Caleb still seems tense as he slides into the backseat at his side.

It’s not that he’s really _that_ concerned about the scandal of the two being seen together. In fact, it might even be seen as some strange demonstration of unity, to the right eyes. The press has been eating that sort of thing up, lately. The ceasefire between the Empire and the Dynasty has gone on long enough it might as well be called ‘peace’, and if the two nations can deign to send athletes to the same events as they did tonight, well then, the world must be ready for _some_ progress.

Evidently, Caleb doesn’t share the same hopefulness, because his body doesn’t relax, even when the heat is blasting full force and a little of the icy quake in his shoulders begins to subside.

“Where to?” the driver asks, and Essek looks at Caleb, who looks at his hands, then bites his lip and says, “The Chalet, on East Willow.” Essek’s eyes narrow.

 _The Chalet._ Not a hotel, then: a hostel. It’s been a long while since he’s stayed in a place like that, but what he recalls – shared dormitories, insecure lockers, group shower facilities, noise till all hours of the night – he wouldn’t be eager to do so again.

Meanwhile, Essek will return to the Lux, where he plans to spend the evening pampering his body in preparation for another sound victory on the morrow. It’s the sort of place Caleb might have stayed, all those years ago, when he was still a junior’s champion and Essek was nothing more than an undiscovered prodigy on the rise. What happened, between then and now, to change his circumstances so greatly? Essek has often wondered. He knows there was some issue with a coach, a long hiatus, and a less-than-triumphant return, and that is the extent of Essek’s intel on the matter. The skating world is rife with gossip, but this is one tale it seems no one wants to tell.

Tomorrow is the second day of competition. _Free skate:_ Caleb’s specialty, and his only chance to redeem himself after his lackluster short program today. Without proper rest, his performance will suffer. What hope will he have of acquiring more sponsorships then? He can’t believe Caleb has even one at the moment, or he wouldn’t be staying in a place like this.

They’re nearly at the turnoff to East Willow – a dingy street, with sporadic streetlights and not much to see beyond the occasional hostel and long-term residence – when Essek puts his hand on the driver’s shoulder.

“The Lux,” he instructs, and Caleb sits up, mildly alarmed as he leans forward between Essek and the driver.

 _“Bitte,”_ he says softly, “My stop is first. We’re nearly there.” He gestures out the window, like Essek can’t already see the sorry road where he’s meant to drop Caleb off.

“Do you have anything stored at the Chalet?” Essek asks.

Caleb swallows, then turns his head. “…I don’t.”

“The Lux,” Essek says again, and because the driver is on _his_ payroll, off they go. Caleb sits back at last, no longer protesting, and Essek smiles privately to himself. His competition will be in proper fighting form tomorrow, if he has to buy out the whole hotel to do it.

Caleb even lets him take his bag as they exit the car and step up beneath the glittering lights of the Lux’s lobby, which he counts as a secondary success, especially for someone who was so reluctant to accept even the simple kindness of a car ride on a snowy night. The proprietors know him by now, so much that he barely needs to speak his request before another room key is being handed over. And perhaps it’s best that the exchange is quick, because Caleb grows more agitated by the minute, as he huddles into himself beneath the crystal chandeliers. Essek thinks he looks enchanting in the ethereal light, but his threadbare clothes don’t match the décor, and he can’t blame Caleb for feeling out of place.

Still, he feels himself like a dashing hero as he whisks Caleb off towards the golden elevators. Like a saviour from the movies, in the most romantic, foolish sense – and this is one more fantasy, but parts of it are _real._ The part where Caleb agreed to accompany him here, out of the cold? Impossibly, _real._

Which is why the ice-water crashes down all the harder when the elevator’s doors slide shut and he finally gets a good look at Caleb’s face, and realizes exactly how unhappy of an expression he wears.

No, not unhappy.

_Resigned._

“Is this the favour, then?” he murmurs, and that’s all the warning Essek gets before Caleb’s chapped lips are pressed to his throat.

He catches Caleb’s hands, pushing him away as his heart pounds like an anvil in his chest, realizing what just-

What Caleb-

Caleb watches him warily for a moment longer, then pries Essek’s fingers off his own and takes a step back.

“I apologize,” he says, soft accent turned brittle, “if I misjudged your intention.”

Essek puts his hand to his neck, where only a moment again, Caleb was-

The realization of his own presumption chokes him, and he shakes his head quickly. “I should be the one apologizing.” And he _should._ In hindsight, it’s easy to see how his actions might have been misinterpreted.

But at the same time, to misinterpret those actions, in such a way…

He is suddenly glad, to not have found out more about Caleb’s past, at least not without the other man’s consent. At least not without being _told._

Essek pulls the second key card from his pocket and hands it over. Caleb takes it, turning it over between his fingers. “I should have given this to you in the lobby. Forgive me,” he apologizes again. “I had no expectations of this night, other than seeing us both at our best tomorrow. Neither of us frozen, or unrested.”

As Essek waits for his response, a small shudder runs through Caleb’s shoulders, that might be imperceptible to one unaccustomed to monitoring the body for even the slight minutia of posture and poise. But he straightens up as the elevator chime _dings,_ and when he turns to look back at Essek, his body has lost a little of its stiffness. The tension that the judges so often criticize in Caleb’s form fades in inches, like he’s finally let out a long held breath. Essek’s breath is shorter held, but he does the same still, and makes a silent promise that he’ll be more careful from this moment on.

He’s not the only one who wears a costume, and who knows how to artfully hide the cracks beneath.

Caleb raises his hand in a little wave of farewell as he exits the elevator. “Till tomorrow, then.” The corners of his lips turn up on the last word – not quite a smile, but not so much of a frown. An improvement. A step forward, after two back.

It’s still _something._

“Tomorrow,” Essek agrees, and the doors slide shut, leaving him alone again.

 _Tomorrow,_ he thinks. _Tomorrow._

_Show me what you’re capable of, Caleb Widogast, at your very best._

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me at [mithrilwren](https://mithrilwren.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


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